7. Ryan

Chapter seven

Ryan

When I spotted Alan in the corner grocer, I thought this was my chance to chat in a totally neutral setting. I mean, it has the potential for a really adorable meet cute. Except my life rarely goes the way of romance movies, no matter how much I wish it would, and instead of the sweetest interaction in the world that makes him fall in love with me instantly, I bag out his grandfather in the first minute of conversation.

Alan grabs another couple of packs of chocolate biscuits and puts them in his cart. “Gramps gave Harry a hard time, too. Sorry,” he says moving slowly down the aisle.

“I didn’t mean to—”

“It’s fine. Has he asked you to buy curtains yet?”

“The first day I moved in, and every day since.”

“Yeah, he tries to convince me to break in and install them whenever I’m at his place, too.”

“I was going to get some, but there is so little light that comes in as it is, and I like having the window open to catch the breeze.”

“Harry told him the same thing. It won’t stop him from asking, though. Just like nothing will convince him what we do is real baseball.”

His sad voice sends a pang to my chest.

“It is, though,” I say, and he gives me a half smile and nods, but it’s almost like he maybe doesn’t believe it either. I grab his arm to stop him from pushing the cart further and turn him to face me. “We are real baseball players, Alan. Don’t let what anyone thinks affect how you see yourself.”

“I try not to, but it’s just so hard. Gramps used to love watching me play ball growing up. He taught me the game on the family ranch, and when I was old enough to play, he took me to every training and was at every game.”

We continue up the aisle, Alan grabbing things from the shelf as we go.

“Has he seen you play Banana Ball?”

“Ha, no. He just sits in his apartment watching the street with those binoculars of his griping about how I’ve ruined the sport he loves.”

“That’s rough.”

“Yeah, but he’s old, so…”

“So what?”

He turns to face me, a frown etched on his forehead.

“Well, there is no point trying to convince an old person they’re wrong, you know, they are so set in their ways and all that.”

“That’s bullshit,” I reply, and he laughs. The way his eyes sparkle when he smiles for real sends a swirl of warmth through my gut.

“He’s just the way he is. I tried way too many times to talk him into coming to a game, to see me play. He won’t budge, so I gave up hoping he’ll change his mind.”

“But you haven’t.”

“I have. I don’t ask anymore.”

“Yeah, but you still want him to come, so really, you gave up trying, not hoping.”

“I guess.”

I can’t imagine not having my family’s support. I’ve always had it. When I was swimming in college, playing cricket, even when I decided to up and leave for a job on the other side of the world, they’ve always been in my corner cheering me on. If Don isn’t going to support him and make him see what he’s doing is amazing, then maybe I can. We’re friends, after all. Sort of. Teammates, or fellow players, at least.

“Do you have much more to get? I could help you carry this stuff back?” I offer, and he grabs a packet of something from the shelf and tosses it into the cart.

“Just a few more things, but that’s okay, I can manage.”

I glance down at the half-full cart. “I’ll help you. I’m headed that way, anyway. I only stopped in here to grab a some stuff for dinner.”

“Okay, then. Thanks, that would be good. Well, I only have milk and a few TV dinners to grab. What do you need?”

“TV dinners?”

“Yeah, Gramps doesn’t cook anymore. My sister Kelly drops off a few homemade things once in a while, but she can’t cook either, so this is kinder, trust me.”

I laugh, and we head to the freezer section for him to load up on TV dinners, and then we grab the potatoes, cream, and butter I need.

“You’re having potatoes for dinner?”

“No, I’ve got shepherd’s pie going at home. Duckie is watching the sauce thicken. It takes a while. I just didn’t realize we were out of potatoes, and you can’t have shepherd’s pie without creamy mash on top now, can you?”

He’s staring at me, eyes wider than normal, eyebrows raised, and with a quizzical grin.

“What?”

“I just never picked you for a cook.”

“My granny taught me. She’s the real cook of the family. Most of the time, I just follow her recipes and hope not to screw it up too badly, but before I left the UK, I had the shepherd’s pie down. Have you ever had it?”

He shakes his head.

“You should come try it, tell me what you think.” The second the words are out of my mouth, I feel my face start to warm. Did I seriously just ask Alan Beaker over for dinner? “You know, if you don’t have plans, no big deal. Duckie and Ian will be there, too. There is plenty, that’s all.” Oh my god, just stop.

“Sure, ummm, that would be great,” he replies, and I can’t stop the stupid smile from spreading across my face. Fuck, come on, I tell myself. Try to be cool.

***

We get to the door of Don’s apartment, and he pauses.

“If he says anything that offends you, I’m sorry,” he says, lowering his head.

“I’ve met Don, remember. Besides, I’m sure it will be fine. I’m not easily offended.”

“Okay, but don’t say I didn’t warn you.”

“Noted, now can we go in, please? My fingers are starting to go numb.”

He pushes open the door, a hiss sounds from somewhere nearby, and Alan takes a step back. My chest is against his back, and he turns his head slightly towards me but doesn’t move.

“Demon on the loose,” he whispers, and I hold my position, even though his ass is practically pressed against my groin and the warmth of him is sending a swarm of nerves over every inch of my skin. “Gramps, come grab your spawn so I can get to the kitchen,” he calls.

“Stop your fussin’. Precious ain’t no demon, she’s protecting her house is all. Did you get her treats?”

Alan finally takes a step forward again, and I release the breath I didn’t realize I had been holding, then follow him inside.

“Yes, I got her treats. You know Ryan, he lives next door. He offered to help carry these up,” Alan says, making a beeline down the hallway to the right and into what I assume is the kitchen.

“Hi, again,” I say, nodding as I walk in the same direction.

“You got those curtains yet?”

“No, sorry, they didn’t have any,” I lie and turn the corner to drop off the rest of Don’s groceries on the counter.

“I’ve got this. You can head home,” Alan says, unloading the bags.

“Just come round when you’re done. It will still be a while before dinner is ready.”

“Sounds good, and really, thanks again.”

“No worries,” I reply, walking back out to the living space. Precious leaps from Gramp’s arms and struts over. I freeze. Is she going to attack? I’m wearing training shorts from practice today, my legs are exposed. Shit, what do I do? I’m about to dash the door, but then Precious lowers her head, and instead of attacking me as I expect, like Alan said she does to him every time he visits, she rubs up against my leg purring, and then looks up at me like I’m her most favorite person in the world. Maybe it’s a ploy to get me to trust her, to bend down to pat her, and then she’ll attack my hand or my arm, or my face?

“Hmm, well ain’t that peculiar,” Gramps says while studying Precious.

“What is?”

“Looks like she likes ya, boy. Well, go on then, give her a pat.”

I lean down and nervously reach to brush my fingers over her back, but she nudges my hand with her face and purrs deeper.

“Oh, you’re a sweet kitty, aren’t you,” I say, and I scratch under her chin. She closes her eyes a little, sitting on the floor and arching her neck higher. I had cats back in the UK. They were not really mine, ferals that decided to claim me and my cousin because we would put milk out for them every night after mum would go to bed.

“Everything’s away—” Alan says, walking out into the living room, and then he stops. Precious stiffens, and her eyes open and lock onto him. The purr becomes a rattle in her throat.

“You’re touching it,” Alan whispers. “Why are you touching it?”

“She wanted a pat,” I say, scratching that spot under her neck again, and I can see as she slightly closes her eyes she wants to give in, but she also doesn’t want to take her attention off Alan. “You’re a good kitty, aren’t you,” I croon.

“She’s a demon sent from hell to try and kill me is what she is. I still have cuts on my legs that haven’t healed.”

Gramps coughs a little in his chair by the window.

“You okay there, Don?” I ask and he waves a hand my way but continues to cough. Alan disappears then walks back in with a tall glass of water, straight past Precious without even a flinch, and kneels beside his grandfather.

“Here, Gramps, drink this,” he says, handing it over. After a few sips, Don is completely back to normal and shooing Alan away with his hand.

“I’m fine,” Gramps says, and Alan stands.

“It didn’t sound like you were fine,” he reasons. “When did you last have a visit from the doctor?”

“I’m fit as a fiddle, no need for no doctor. I’m totally fine. See, Precious is still over there with young Ryan. If I was truly in any danger, she’d be right at my side, I tell ya.”

Gramps climbs from the chair, struts over and picks up Precious, and she actually fights him a little, which makes me smile.

“Go on, out ya get before you get her all worked up,” Gramps says, and Alan walks around me to the door.

“I put on dinner. The microwave will beep when it’s done,” he says.

“Thanks, now be off with ya both.”

“You’re welcome,” I say and follow Alan out to the hall.

“I can’t believe you just did that,” Alan says as we make our way back down the stairs.

“You know, maybe those possessed cries she makes at night are just her trying to get some attention.”

“You can’t be serious. You spent all of two minutes with her and you’re ready to give up on the demon possession theory altogether? You saw how she greeted me, right?”

I shrug. “I guess she just likes me better. Come on, we better get in before Duckie destroys the sauce.”

When we get into the apartment, I find Ian standing by the stove top.

“Duckie got bored, but I think it’s almost done,” he says when we walk in.

“Cheers, I didn’t think I would be so long, but I ran into Alan. He’s going to stay for dinner, too.”

“Nice. No worries. Ryan always makes too much.”

“Do not. I’m following my granny’s recipe.”

Duckie walks out of their room. “And she used to cook for a family of ten.”

“Very funny. There were seven of them, actually.”

“So still more than twice as many as the number of people who live here then. Oh, hey, Alan, do you want a beer?” he asks, like seeing him in our place is the most normal thing in the world.

“Sure,” he replies, and they sit and chat in the living room while Ian helps me finish off dinner in the kitchen. I could halve the recipe to make less, but then I would have to find a smaller baking tray, and half the cream would just sit in the fridge unused. I guess now I could give it to Precious.

“So, you and Alan. Is that new?” Ian asks as he chops the potatoes I’ve peeled and puts them into the pot of boiling water.

“It’s not anything. I just ran into him at the grocery store.”

“Sure it’s not. You just go around inviting everyone to dinner, my mistake,” he chuckles, and I can’t stop the smirk that finds its way to my lips.

“Okay, so I like him, but he’s on the other team, and it would just be…messy.

“Or it could be amazing.”

“Maybe. But how can I know for sure?”

“You can’t.”

“If we did get together and it went bust, it would affect both teams, not just us. I can’t take that risk. I’ll have to settle for just being his friend. I can do that.”

He nods and smiles, but I don’t think he believes a word I said, but I have to. I need to just be his friend because Harry is right. Getting involved with another player is a bad idea.

Duckie holds up his phone from the couch and points it my way.

“Dude, that intro of you two is still trending,” Duckie says, and Alan blushes a little beside him.

“It’s got people talking, that’s for sure,” Alan replies, and I smile, remembering the feeling of being in his arms as he carried me over the rail and jumped down to the dirt. Nope, stop thinking about it. You just said yourself getting involved with a player is a bad idea. You’re friends. Just friends, I tell myself, but then Alan glances my way, and his eyes sparkle the way they do when he’s really chuffed, and my chest swells. Fuck, I am so totally screwed.